


something softer than us

by theamazingpeterparker



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Falling In Love, Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Philadelphia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5557847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingpeterparker/pseuds/theamazingpeterparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He almost told him then, leaning forward like the thought hit him with enough force that he'd say it out loud. He had bit his tongue, let Niall carry on his explanation against the backdrop of a setting sun across the river from the ballpark. Harry supposes then that he'd loved Niall for a long time now, anyway.</i>
</p><p>Niall's cat's name is Lunchbox, Louis has definitely been in love, Zayn won't shut up about the Antonine Plague, and Harry doesn't know how to tell Niall that he's in love with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	something softer than us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goreallegore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreallegore/gifts).



> this is for my best friends arwa and philadelphia, pa because both of them have my whole heart  
> thanks to sav and clare and rachel for talking me through this !!  
> title is from anis mojgani's poem "come closer."

The only thing Harry’s eaten today is a bag of pretzels and nine jello shots. Louis is currently pushing another into his hands, there’s a five of diamonds under the tab of the beer can on the table and someone’s yelling _FIVE, GUYS!_ from across the table. Harry doesn’t take his eyes off Niall down the hallway, tucked close to Bressie laughing about whatever, and he tongues the jello out of its little cup, lets it slip down this throat.

Louis’s hand is heavy and warm on the back of his neck, steering Harry away from the game and against the kitchen counter. “You alright?” he asks, and his voice is hot and drunk but he’s being sincere. Harry pushes his hair out of his face, nods. Louis doesn’t let him go, eyes and hand lingering long enough for Harry to say it, “I’m _fine_ ,” he says, swallowing thickly around a dry mouth. Louis’s brow creases but he doesn’t push it because someone’s just pulled an eight and they’re shouting, “Louis!”, pulling him back into the game.

Harry wanders down the hallway into the thick of the party, drawn to Niall who slips his arm around Harry’s waist, doesn’t break his pace with Bressie.

“‘M really drunk,” Harry mumbles, face pressed into Niall’s neck. Niall’s thumb finds its way under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, presses firm against his hipbone there as he winds down his conversation with Bressie. “You wanna go?” Niall finally asks, turning his face towards Harry. Harry finally melts into Niall’s side with the attention, slumping as much as he can without falling over. Niall pats his stomach. “Okay.”

They end up at a 24-hour Wawa, Niall waiting patiently by the deli with two bottles of water while Harry bumbles around the store, filling his hands with as many drunk snacks as he can carry and poking at the deli order screens for some hoagies. He wanders back over to Niall with their usual 2AM orders, a cheese and veggie quesadilla and a BBQ chicken panini with extra cheese, Niall already at the register with their waters and two milkshakes.

They sit on the edge of the fountain at Love Park and devour their sandwiches and Harry feels better immediately, lets Niall suck down the last of his shake as a thank you for leaving the party early. Harry might be staring but his excuse is that he’s drunk, captivated by the halo of light that the streetlight overhead drenches Niall in. “You ready?” Niall finally asks and Harry blinks, feels his mouth pull into a slow smile as he nods.

It’s a mile back to Niall’s place in Rittenhouse but it’s not a bad walk once they’re off the parkway, and Harry could use the air. It takes him three blocks before he knocks his hand gently against Niall’s and his boyfriend takes it immediately, his hand solid and a little too warm like always. Harry’s drunk brain sings him a lovely rendition of _tell him now tell him tell him tell him now tell him_ for another two blocks but he fights against it, just lets himself buzz off the tail end of alcohol in his body and the warmth of the boy beside him.

+++

Harry’s miraculously awake before Niall the next morning but he lays there with his eyes closed for a long time, doesn’t want to move even though Niall’s hair is tickling his cheek and Harry’s hand feels stiff and staticky where it’s lodged under the pillow. Summer mornings are more syrupy than they are during the school year and Harry’s still getting used to them, no rush to get to class or do _anything_ and it’s weird, having the time to lay here with Niall without a paper or a class or plans lingering at the back of his head. But _something_ is itching at the back of his skull, something that’s been sneaking up on him for a while. Niall tucked under his arm breathing soft and slow, the whole bed almost too warm. Harry can’t sift through his sticky hangover and whatever’s bothering him, not right now, but maybe a shower and breakfast would help.

Niall’s awake an hour later, comes shuffling into the kitchen searching for coffee and breakfast that’s still warm on the stove and Harry’s stretching on the living room floor, Lunchbox curling around his wrists every time his arms extend back on the floor.

“You’re alive, then,” Niall says with a smile as he drops onto the couch, flicks the TV away from _Antiques Roadshow_ to _Sportscenter_. Harry scoops up the cat pawing at his palms and sits up, hair still damp and hanging limply around his shoulders. “You hear from Lou yet?”

Harry shakes his head and Lunchbox’s attention moves to batting at Harry’s hair until he puts the cat on the coffee table. “He was just getting started when we left. We probably won’t hear from him for _days_.”

Harry goes back to what started as his usual yoga but by now it’s just stretching and playing with Lunchbox on the floor while Niall flips between channels. He’s still chewing over what’s been bothering him for so long, really only gets to him when he’s drunk. It’s just that the boy he loves is sitting on the couch, probably spilling oatmeal on the cushions, and Harry doesn’t know if _Niall_ knows that Harry loves him.

He almost says it there, too. Niall curled on the couch, Harry hungover on the floor with Rachael Ray telling them how to make a healthy garden salad on TV, he almost tells him _Hey, Niall? I’m in love with you_ but he doesn’t. He’s not sure why.

+++

Niall doesn’t believe in love at first sight and Harry doesn’t really, either, but they fit together as soon as they met and that must count for something. Any relationship ought to count for something when they met at a house party sophomore year and had been together since, Harry at Villanova and Niall at Drexel like some kind of Romeo and Juliet bullshit. And Harry doesn’t suppose that he loved Niall immediately but he does know that he’s loved him since they got together, only really understood it the day they went to a baseball game three months ago. It wasn’t a shock or some life-changing revelation, the two of them sat at a Riversharks game in Jersey drinking too-expensive beer. Niall’s scorecard had devolved from actual record-keeping into smiley faces and frowny faces, pointing out players from the Phillies roster who are playing in the minors because of injuries, or potential players who could be scouted for the majors. He’d been bent over the game program, five minutes deep into lecturing Harry about in-field home runs when Harry decided that he was in love. He almost told him then, leaning forward like the thought hit him with enough force that he’d say it out loud. He had bit his tongue, let Niall carry on his explanation against the backdrop of a setting sun across the river from the ballpark. Harry supposes then that he’d loved Niall for a long time now, anyway.

+++

“Why don’t you--”

“If you say ‘just tell him,’ Liam, I’ll eat your face.”

“Well…” he pauses, tiptoeing and Harry watches him struggle with a stony expression, “why don’t you, you know?”

Harry scrubs a hand across his face. “Because I-- we’re not _like_ that, Liam. We don’t talk about stuff.”

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it. It crosses his mind at least twice a day, even a quick _you could say it now_ that skips across his brain but never takes hold. Like, every goddamn rom-com they end up watching until Niall’s passed out on the couch has Harry thinking about it. Does it have to be some grand gesture? Does he have to rent a hot air balloon or some shit? It’s not like he’s _proposing_ , but.

“How did you say it, then?” He pushes Liam and his friend blushes immediately, muttering something under his breath. “What was that, Liam?”

“During sex,” Liam says louder, meets Harry’s gaze but his face is blotchy with embarrassment. “I just said it.”

“Heat of the moment?” Harry teases and Liam huffs a laugh, leans forward and settles Harry with a firmer look.

“You haven’t had sex yet?” Liam asks and Harry feels himself tense up, prior jokes stuck to the roof of his mouth. He ducks his head, goes back to worrying at his fingernails.

“I haven’t. You know that.”

Liam shuts down pretty quickly after that, turning his attention back to the guest book he and Sophia have been arguing about for months. Harry almost can’t believe his freshman year undergrad roommate is getting _married_ , Christ.

“We could do dinner some night, yeah?” Liam pipes up after a while, giving Harry his most harmless smile, his offer really an apology, “our treat.”

+++

They wind up most nights at Eakins Oval or the waterfront, depending on who else is out and how far they’ll have to walk. Tonight they’ve commandeered a tiny metal table at the oval and somehow crammed eight people around it, Niall and Harry with Louis and Zayn and Deo and Josh and more of their friends, rotating between sharing seats and laps and lingering at the outer edges of the table. Harry can breathe, out here on nights like this, feels like they’re all freshly 21 again. Niall and Luke are arguing about the last Union game against Seattle, Louis trying to convince Zayn to go dance with him. It’s a night in July and nobody’s getting married and nobody’s going for their PhD or leaving for Rome in the fall. At least, not tonight they aren’t. They all split up after a while to mill around the beer garden and food trucks, reconvening at their little table with Niall in Harry’s lap, sharing a basket of nachos. It’s loud, the little park in the center of the parkway, too many people who keep coming over, friends of friends and empty beer cans being kicked around.

Something rushes through Harry like a shot of adrenaline, a thrill of realization; he doesn’t _need_ to say it. He thinks it’s understood, it _should_ be understood, Niall’s hand tucked against Harry’s collarbone and this _is_ love, no need to say it out loud. He thinks Niall understands. 

+++

“You should just fuckin’ say it,” is Louis’s advice across the lobby of the tattoo parlor. Their reasoning for tattoos today is that it’s Tuesday, Louis got paid four days ago, and he declared that if he doesn’t spend this on a tattoo he’s going to spend it on booze. So, here they are.

Harry’s lingering at a panther tattoo in one of the flash portfolios and he’s thinking that Louis might be right, except...

“Lou,” Harry pipes up, frowning as he turns towards his friend, “Have you ever actually been in real love? Like, romantic love?”

Louis pouts, shrugging as he walks over to look at the binder Harry has open. “I’ve been in love,” he says, stubbornly, and Harry fixes him with a hard stare. Neither of them say anything for a while, Louis passing the waiting artist a binder page with a fox on it. “I’m just saying, Styles,” Louis says over his shoulder on his way back to the tattoo beds, “No time like the present, right?”

+++

And it really fucking sucks, is the thing. Harry and Niall were always _HarryandNiall_ , no need to have some big conversation about dating or what they were and Harry was always okay with that; Niall never pestered Harry about being a virgin and Harry never had to sit down and explain shit to Niall because Niall always just _got it_. Harry chews this over while Niall naps on his chest, asleep after the first twenty minutes of _Saving Private Ryan_ , only stirs after a particularly loud explosion or gunshot, _turnitdownbabe_ grumbled into Harry’s stomach.

It’s everyone else that’s fucking this up, Harry decides after clicking the volume down a few bars. Dating during undergrad was fine, carefree, but now everyone’s an Actual Adult and they’re supposed to act like Actual Adults in a Relationship (meaning: saying _I love you_ and probably having regular sex). Liam’s getting _married_ and Zayn’s going for his PhD, for fuck’s sake--it’s hard to not feel like they should be trying to catch up, to feel like they should start acting like the adults they are. And they’ve never been the type of couple to be influenced by what their friends think but this is...Harry’s been taught his whole life that the _I Love You_ is something monumental, the last step before the wedding, the commitment, the end of the movie credits.

Harry reaches down, tugs his fingers carefully through the ends of Niall’s hair. “Love you,” he whispers, too quiet for Niall to have heard even if he was awake.

+++

Liam and Sophia treat Harry and Niall to a dinner at R2L, the same place that Liam proposed to her so Harry supposes there’s a running theme, here. Some guy proposes to his girlfriend as they’re waiting for a table, she says yes and the whole restaurant applauds politely, the waitstaff bringing the couple a bottle of champagne. It’s nice. “Good for them,” Niall says into Harry’s shoulder, laughing and shaking his head. He pats the lapel of Harry’s coat as they’re escorted in for their table, “not really my thing, though. For future reference.”

Liam won’t stop exchanging looks with Harry throughout the dinner, eager and nodding as if he expects Harry to drop to his knee and fucking propose to Niall right there.

“Is this the only reason you brought us to a nice place?” Harry leans over and whispers to Liam while Niall and Sophia look over the dessert menu and talk with their waiter. Liam gives Harry an innocent shrug.

“Would be a romantic gesture, wouldn’t it?” Liam mutters back, tipping back in his seat to Sophia once they’re ordered dessert. Harry leans back into Niall’s arm around the back of his chair, chews on his drink’s straw. The whole night feels...brittle now, somehow, less genuine. And maybe Harry would’ve said it tonight, up against the windows looking out over the city, Niall caught in the reflection of the city below them. Maybe on the cab ride home. But...he doesn’t need Liam to set up a night for him to do it. So, not tonight.

+++

Tonight is a group of people Harry doesn’t know outside Jim’s Steaks, Niall ordering their usual steaks, _one whiz wit and one American wit_ and taking them to the small outcrop of picnic tables across the street. It’s a friday night in June and everyone seems to be out, Niall alternating between eating with Harry and getting up, jogging across the street or calling people over to say hello. Everyone who’s convened at their little table is more or less drunk but somehow remembers Niall from somewhere. They haven’t been to South Street in weeks and Niall’s always flushed and exhausted by the end of it, like everyone he’s ever met has converged on the street on the same night. It’s when Harry likes Niall best in the summers, he thinks, sat on some too-crowded bench outside a cheesesteak shop with people they both hardly know. There’s a lot of shouted _love you, man!_ ’s from Niall and from his friends, yelling from two blocks down as they go on their way but Niall stays at Harry’s side as they pick through their steaks. Niall screams _I love you_ across the street at a man dressed as a banana and Harry feels Niall’s voice rumble through his own shoulder from where Niall’s lodged and warm in Harry’s side, fingers plucking up the last shreds of Harry’s bread. It’s a night of nothing but neon signs and car horns and alcohol and familiar faces but Harry’s never felt happier or more at home.

+++

Zayn only ever comes over when he forgets to buy food for his own apartment. He has a special shelf in Niall’s pantry for back-up snacks, and it’s mostly Cheetos and ramen noodles and extra espresso k-cups. He’s standing in front of the stove when Harry comes in one morning. Harry opens his mouth to ask but Zayn just grunts around his mug, holds up the keychain that Niall’s spare apartment key is attached to.

“Have you slept?” Harry asks after a few beats of silence, Zayn collapsing into one of the chairs with his mug and an orange. His thesis is kicking his ass and he usually just forgets to sleep; Harry will probably force him to take a nap for a few hours once Niall’s awake.

Harry passes Zayn a box of donuts and that gets him talking after his fingers are coated with powdered sugar, head down in his arms lolled over to look at Harry. “Liam has a big mouth,” he starts with a sigh, giving Harry a careful, _if you don’t wanna talk we won’t_ look. Harry lets his face crumple dramatically and Zayn  cracks a smile. “I just don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to,” Zayn says, shrugging as he picks his head up from the table, “there’s no rush for things, you know?”

Harry bites his lip. “I feel like there is,” he admits finally, can’t look at Zayn, “I feel like everyone else keeps waiting--”

“And is everyone else in your relationship?” Zayn interrupts and Zayn never interrupts, cuts Harry’s thoughts short. “It’s none of their business. You know that, H.”

Niall’s entrance into the kitchen cuts the conversation short, Zayn giving the half-asleep man a quick hug, gathering his stash of emergency snacks to take back to his place.

  
“You want to come out with us?” Niall asks as Zayn dumps ramen and a jug of pretzel sticks into a plastic bag. “Think we’re going to Morgan’s tomorrow night.”

Zayn pauses, eyes cast upwards with the familiar expression of running through his thesis schedule. Niall laughs as he plucks up one of the donuts from the box on the table. “The Antonine plague can chill out for a night, Zayn.”

Zayn finally grins around the pretzel stick between his teeth, cups the back of Niall’s head with a gentle palm as he stands. “Suppose I can find the time then, yeah.”

Niall lights up. “Really? I’ll text you the time tomorrow, if you want us to come by and get you.”

Zayn nods swiftly, gathering his things and heading for the door like he was never here, as quickly as he arrived. “Yeah, I promise. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, alright?”

“See you, bro. Love you,” Niall waves as Zayn shuts the apartment door behind him and then goes about starting a fresh mug of coffee. Harry’s rigid by the refrigerator, body shooting sparks and leaving him feeling staticky all over, the casual way Niall had just said it. Could it really be that easy. He opens his mouth to test it, tongue pressing up against the back of his teeth and then Niall sweeps over, kisses Harry on the mouth and mumbles _morning_. Niall’s hand finds Harry’s hip with ease and he guides him away from the refrigerator door, opening it to pull out the milk. Harry’s left smiling and thinking that actions speak louder than words.

+++

They meet Zayn at his apartment in Old City off Wood St and walk across the boulevard to the waterfront. Zayn compensates for a night off of research by _telling_ Harry and Niall everything about his thesis on the walk to Morgan’s Pier, Harry knows more about the Antonine Plague than he’d ever hoped to know by the time they’re seated with Liam and Louis. Zayn’s officially put on Thesis Probation by Louis, and the conversation shifts instead to the usual, _we don’t see each other enough, will have to have a party before Zayn leaves for Rome, before Liam gets married, Niall does your brother still have Flyers season tickets, are you sure you want your wedding in Philly, Louis when are you going to get a real job_. The drunker they get the more invasive it gets, Louis throwing a dirty sneaker up on the table to show the group his newest tattoo he got with Harry on his ankle, a skateboarding skeleton. Zayn diverts back to talking about the symptoms of the plague, raising his voice every time Niall starts laughing, asking him to shut the hell up. By the time it’s dark they’re winding down on the alcohol and ordered another round of onion rings. They’re all craned close to each other over the center of the table talking about the important, deep things that only drunk best friends can talk about.

“Goofy has to be a dog. What else would he be?” Louis half-shouts passionately and Niall dissolves into a fit of laughter in Liam’s shoulder.

“ _Go_ get us more drinks,” Harry tells Louis, shoving him away from the table and Louis goes without much of a fight, still muttering to himself about the biological classification of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.

Liam’s staring at Harry the same way he had been at R2L as he shrugs Niall off and Niall leans over to settle into Harry’s side, instead. “You guys are really good together,” Liam finally says, voice thick and heavy when he’s almost-too-drunk. Harry stiffens but Niall just chuckles softly, breath warm against Harry’s neck. “Really, really, really, really great. Real good.”

“Liam,” Harry speaks up, voice strained enough that Zayn must catch on, looks back at the three of them instead of out over the river. Liam pouts. “What? I’m just _saying_. If you guys, like, really love each other or whatever. You’d be good.”

“We _are_ good,” Niall mumbles sleepily, reaching out for an onion ring.

Liam’s pout turns into a Very Concerned Frown and he squints at the couple. “You guys _do_ love each other, right?”

“Liam!” Zayn interrupts, nudging the man with the beer bottle in his hand. Harry feels Niall hum against his chest. “Think you’ve about had enough.”

Louis comes back with a tray of shots and Harry knocks his back just for something else to focus on, the FIreball burning all the way down like he’s fucking nineteen in some frat house again. Niall reaches for his own shot and Harry shakes his head, pushes Niall’s shot glass away before he can get his hands on it. “Fireball, you hate it,” he says and Niall makes a disgruntled noise, picks his head up from Harry’s shoulder to glare at Louis.

“Liam and Niall are cut off, anyway,” Zayn says, standing up and coming around the table. He drapes an arm around Niall’s shoulders and steer him away from the table. “C’mon, Ni, let’s get some waters.”

Harry watches them leave and when he turns back to the table, Liam and Louis are staring apprehensively at him. “Okay, you know what?” Harry says as soon as Zayn and Niall have disappeared under the bar’s roof, “I don’t know why I told you all in the first place.”

Louis snorts into his glass but Liam looks genuinely confused, so Harry’s clearly going to have to spell it out. “It’s none of your business,” he says frankly, “I’ll tell him when I tell him.”

There’s a long silence, Louis and Harry waiting for the other two to return and then Liam clears his throat, “I’m just saying, though. Tonight would be a great night.”

Zayn lets Niall and Harry crash in his living room, Niall already passed out on the recliner when Zayn carries in an armful of blankets. Harry’s dozing on the couch, reaching up to pull Zayn down to his level when he comes by. “Thank you,” Harry mumbles, grabbing one of the blankets from his friend. “I love you guys.”

Zayn smiles softly, pats Harry on the cheek. “See?” he says as he stands up, “That wasn’t so hard to say, was it?”

Harry doesn’t have time to think this over, alcohol and exhaustion fuzzing his brain too much to consider this, but he supposes that Zayn _is_ right, he said it and he meant it and Zayn knows that he meant it. Maybe it’s not as scary as he thought.

+++

So he’s going to say it. He wants to, he’s always _wanted_ to, just hasn’t had the right moment.

Niall says it to him on the lawn of Independence Hall, surrounded by tourists having picnics and chasing kids but the two of them are collapsed on the grass after an actual morning run from Harry’s apartment. Niall’s on the ground, hands pressed against his face. “Harry,” he groans, face squinched up in pain as he rolls onto his back, “I love you, but I am _never_ doing this again with you.”

Harry’s heart flutters but he doesn’t let it get the best of him, instead he shakes out the last of his water bottle over Niall’s panting figure. “Fair enough.”

It feels monumental.

+++

“Niall,” Harry breathes, nosing at Niall’s hair behind his ear. They’re on the SEPTA platform waiting for their train to take them up to Silk City Diner, both in their pajamas surrounded by businessmen and women ready for work. They’ve done this countless times, skipping classes or still drunk from the night before, brunch before showing family and friends around the city. “Niall,” Harry says again, louder, the end of the tunnel is lightening with an approaching train, “I’m in love with you.”

Niall turns to him, smiling already, his hair fluttering a bit as a train whisks through. “I’m in love with you too, Harry,” he says back, easiest thing in the world, what the fuck took them so long.  Harry’s exhale is drowned out by the whooshing of the train doors. Niall reaches out and takes Harry’s hand, pulls him into the train car and they have to stand against the doors, both of them jolting into each other a bit when the train pulls forward. There are no fireworks. No singing or dancing, no soft swell of music. Just the two of them in a quiet train car, pressed against each other, Niall watching Harry and Harry watching the tunnel lights through the window douse Niall in bursts of yellow. Harry wants to kiss him, so he does.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr!](http://foxesmouth.tumblr.com)


End file.
